


Deeds Undone

by httptheo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Albus Dumbledore Bashing, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Canon-Typical Violence, Draco Malfoy-centric, Hogwarts Fifth Year, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Listen It's The Durlseys and Death Eaters, M/M, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Morally Grey Draco Malfoy, POV Draco Malfoy, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Powerful Draco Malfoy, Seer Draco Malfoy, Seer Luna Lovegood, Sirius Black Lives, Slow Build Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Slow Burn, That's a given, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 07:28:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25346971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/httptheo/pseuds/httptheo
Summary: The thing about saving the world, was that it was a very Gryffindor thing to do.He could see a Hufflepuff doing it for all their foolish loyalty. Perhaps even a Ravenclaw with all their arrogant wisdom, but saving the world wasn't a Slytherin thing. It wasn't quite in their nature. Now, ruling the world? That was a different thing entirely and much more suited to the House of Salazar.And yet Draco found himself saving the world all the same.(Or; Fortune favours the bold and Time favours the fearful. Draco Malfoy just so happens to be both.)
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Narcissa Black Malfoy, Draco Malfoy & Sirius Black, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Order of the Phoenix & Draco Malfoy, Order of the Phoenix & Harry Potter, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added, Sirius Black & Harry Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 97
Kudos: 431





	1. Deeds Not Words

** DEEDS UNDONE **

_The thing about saving the world, was that it was a very Gryffindor thing to do._

_He could see a Hufflepuff doing it for all their foolish loyalty. Perhaps even a Ravenclaw with all their arrogant wisdom, but saving the world wasn't a Slytherin thing. It wasn't quite in their nature. Now, ruling the world? That was a different thing entirely and much more suited to the House of Salazar._

_And yet Draco found himself saving the world all the same._

  
_(Or; Fortune favours the bold and Time favours the fearful. Draco Malfoy just so happens to be both.)_

**CHAPTER ONE: DEEDS, NOT WORDS**

* * *

There's nothing. 

There's no light. No gravity. Draco is only vaguely aware of himself, and it's mostly due to the _lack_ of himself. There's no body or bones to keep him together and tethered. He's just a presence, drifting in a non existent wind. The sensation starts slowly. If he had to describe it, Draco would say it felt like grains of sand against his bare skin, but that's not quite possible with his lack of body. The feeling builds until the grains are no longer brushing against his feeling, but pushing and pressing. It turns burning and Draco is swallowed in the sensation of it, gritting imaginary teeth against the pain.

Time. Devourer of all things. 

Draco wonders if it's trying to devour him too. 

It doesn't. Instead Draco is spat into his body, slamming into it with such awareness that his conscious breaks through the stunning spell that his past self had fell victim to. The Bat Bogey Hex has subsided and Draco sits up slowly, stomach rolling and green around the gills. He takes in the room around him with trepidation. Scattered around the room are his fellow Slytherins, all younger than he remembers. Their faces are flushed with life, clear of the haggard expressions that had followed them around. Relief blooms in his chest. It's smothered by fear. 

It worked. _It worked_... but Draco doesn't know how much time he has. He stands slowly, world spinning as he rights himself, rising to his feet. His line of vision is lower than he's used to and he scowls at his lack of height. He leans heavily on Umbridge's desk, and takes in the garishly pink room then his eyes fall on the turned down frame. He swallows thickly when he remembers exactly why it's faced that way. _No time Draco_ , he thinks to himself. _You don't have time for this_. The blonde Slytherin stumbles towards his wand, picking it up from the floor. It hums in his hand, a pleasant weight and he closes his eyes, whispering a spell that has lucidity rushing over him like water. Grey eyes blink open and with a flick of his wrist, the stunning spell that had settled over his classmates turns into something deeper, sending them into a long sleep. It'll keep them down long enough for him to leave without witness. " _Colloportus_." Draco whispers and the door seals itself with an odd squelching noise as he picks up the bag of floo powder. Draco steps into the fireplace, holding more powder than is strictly necessary and tries to hold his voice steady as he says; "The Ministry of Magic."

The green flames rear up and swallow him. The floo had never been Draco's favourite method of transportation and he's reminded why at the feeling that washes over him. He finds the flames have a funny kind of heat, the warmth is there but yet it isn't. He holds his breath through the journey, feeling vulnerable and uncomfortably warm until he stumbles out in the middle of the Ministry's Atrium. The fireplace he'd just vacated gives a dull roar before flickering to a mere ember. He's here. He made it. Grey eyes turn immediately to the golden gates, gleaming innocently. The security desk beside it is completely empty, and Draco thanks anyone who's listening as he darts forwards to the lifts. There's no telling just how long he'd been in Umbridge's office. Draco jabs the button for the lifts manically, as if that will quicken it's appearance. It arrives with a loud clank that makes him wince before he slips inside, pressing the button for the ninth floor with no less ferocity. It startles into movement and his descent is accompanied by a jangling and rattling noise that he would otherwise find worrying. As it stands, he's quite grateful for the noise, unsure if he'd be able to bear the silence. 

Whilst in the lift he takes the moment to vanish his outer robe, leaving him in the simpler layer of his uniform. His wand is warm in his hand as he spells his clothes further, altering them until they're an impossibly dark shade of black. It wouldn't do well to wear clothes that would draw more attention to his presence. 

"Department of Mysteries." The cool voice of the Ministry says and Draco keeps his wand in his hand as he walks forward, past the protection of the lift's golden gates. The corridor is so dark his pale skin seems to glow, and the flickering torches mounted on the wall are the only source of light. He'd been here before; once as a child and several times when he'd felt older than his bones. The only noise is his footsteps as he approaches the black door. They echo uncomfortably in the quiet and Draco takes slow breaths to steady himself. He's buzzing with energy, adrenaline rushing in preparation of what he'll face, and magical core insistent on any type of release. It's swollen, feeling far too big for his skinny form and he hopes he'll be able to cope with his fully matured magic in an immature body.

He hears it when he stops outside the door, the nervous chatter and babbling of others. Their voices are unmistakable and he picks the members of the D.A. out. Dread settles in him like lead. He's late, he didn't come early enough. If they're here then Potter is, and his Father is too. Magical discharge rises suddenly in the air, so thick Draco could choke on him and he panics. Apparation is never a good idea when your mind isn't entirely clear. Regardless, Draco turns, feeling his bones squeeze and pop as he's carried through space. _Take me there_ , he begs. _Take me there_.

He stumbles when he lands, his usual grace foreign to limbs he's yet to grow into. His arrival is almost silent, and he lands in a shadowy patch of the room. Draco still takes care to disillusion himself non verbally as he takes stock of the room. There are ten Death Eaters, all of them with their gazes fixed firmly on the Boy Who Lived. Potter stands on the raised dais, in front of a whispering arch. Clutched firmly in his hand is a glass prophecy, in the other his wand, warily raised. His dark complexion is the palest Draco has ever seen, his eyes tight and the turn of his lips painfully desperate. It takes a moment for Draco to realise why. Longbottom lays at his Aunt's feet in a pile of sweat and tears. The remnants of the Cruciatus curse lingers heavily in the air like a sour smell. 

"Now, Potter," Bellatrix says. Her hair is dark and unruly, elegant Pureblood features warped and crazed. The glint in her eyes is sadistic and familiar and Draco is reminded of being on the end of her wand, chest heaving and nerves still wracked with spasms from her happily cast _Crucio_. Her eyes had shone the same way then as they did now. _Now now, Draco._ She'd whispered. _I'm just helping you. I'm helping you become strong._ "Either give us the prophecy or watch your little friend die the hard way!" Draco watches Potter's throat bob as he swallows thickly, hand outstretched with the prophecy, an open offering. Time slows as his Father reaches for it greedily. It's the moment of truth. The last moment. If he did this...If he went through with his plan...It would change everything. That had been the purpose of course, but faced with the final decision leaves his wand hand shaking. He's scared. He always has been. Neither option offers him an out from that fear. If he let his Father take the prophecy and give it to Voldemort, it would only aid his reign of terror. Draco would still wake up with blood staining the walls of his home, Nagini slithering in the hallways, Death Eaters in the rooms he'd played in as a child. The image of Fenrir's smile, all fang and threat, flashes in front of his eyes and Draco's fear grows thicker. He can't go back to that. He can't live like that. Not anymore. Not again. 

Draco's summon is silent but it's strong and the Prophecy comes towards him with speed that rivals a Snitch. Heads jerk towards it as it moves, but no-one has time to follow it's path completely as two doors open high above them. Five figures sprint into the room and Draco shrinks the prophecy to the size of a marble, tucking it into his breast pocket. There's a quietly whispered spell to prevent anyone Accioing it from him and he watches as Nymphadora Tonks sends a stunning spell towards his Father. It misses but Draco compensates by sending his own. He's torn between hurt and relief as it hits it's mark. The spells rain down, a cacophony of magic as the Order members work their way to the sunken floor. The spells stream by in bursts of light and Draco sticks close to the edge of the room, fingers tight around his wand. A flash of red light works it's way towards Potter, too preoccupied crawling to Longbottom to notice and Draco meets it with his own spell, sending it wildly off course. It veers left and hits a Death Eater, sending him crashing into the wall with such a force that the crack of his head meeting stone is loud in the room. As Dolohov goes down, Kingsley Shacklebolt looks around with furrowing brows before settling into a duelling stance and facing his next opponent. Draco is so focused firing spells and erecting hastily cast _Protegos_ over Order members too idiotic to remember to protect their blind spots that he misses the Death Eater that works his way towards Potter. He turns at the man's enraged yell, seeing him stumble away from Potter and Longbottom, one hand raised protectively over his eye. 

" _Petrificus Totalus!_ " Draco yells. Potter's Stupefy dies, half formed on his lips as he watches the man fall and he turns quickly, looking for the root of the spell. Draco darts away, still disillusioned and dodging green light. The move forces him further into the fray. He works his way towards Lupin, the ex-Professor firing spells so quickly that his wand is nought but a blur to Draco's eyes. A particularly sharp cutting curse catches one of the Death Eater's the man had been duelling and once he _Stupefys_ the other, Lupin looks up, bewildered. Draco is already gone. He falls to Mad Eye Moody's side, with a scowl. One of the most famous Wizards in history and he's taken down in a simply fray? Draco is disappointed. He _Accios_ his eye, dropping it in disgust as it hits his hand and leaves it by Moody's side. It spins in it's socket, and Draco gets the feeling it can see him. The thought makes his shudder so he hurriedly casts an _Ennervate_ before ducking an off fired curse and making his way to Tonks to do the same. His Aunt is mere feet away, cackling manically as she fires one vicious spell after another. Despite her speed, Draco is quicker. Her spells bounce off of his shield charms, each popping up at random in front of her targets until she snarls, turning and baring her teeth. He thinks bitterly that she should be proud at him for so easily getting under an opponent's skin. She had been his teacher after all. 

"Y'know Bella" A voice yells and they both whirl to the source. Sirius Black stands atop the dais, eyes sharp but grin lazy as he stares down his cousin. "I always did like Andy more." 

She launches herself at him, and both of their wands are furious and incredible. If Draco wasn't terrified he'd be in awe. He should be helping the others, doing anything he can. He can see Tonks staggering weakly, disorientated from her fall and Moody, firing spells even from his position slouched on the ground. But Draco's view narrows, his focus only on the two in front of him. He's waiting for it. Waiting for the exact moment. It comes too soon.

"Come on!" Sirius jeers, "you can do better than that!" Bellatrix cries out in rage. Her next spell flies over his head in a blur of red light. The second finds purchase in his chest. The laughter hasn't fully died on his lips even as his eyes widen in shock. It seems like an age as the spell hits them, and then he falls, body curved in a graceful arc as he sags backwards towards the archway. Draco is there to catch him. The room is silent save for the thundering crack of his Apparation. He lands quickly, a body blockade between the Heir of The House of Black and impending death. There's a ghostly feeling at his back, the whispering beckoning him, tendrils of mist leaning towards him as if seeking an embrace. He grips Sirius tight and spins so quickly his entire presence lasts no less than a second. They land in the Atrium, a mess of tangled limbs. Draco turns, laying Sirius on the cold floor, his chest rises shallowly, face shining with sweat. Unconscious, but alive. _Blessedly, mercifully alive._

Draco sits beside him, ears ringing and chest heaving. He's aware then, of the ache in his ribs and dampness of his cheek and arm. He looks down, detached and suddenly exhausted as he takes into the account the vicious cut on his arm. The rush of the fight had left him unaware, but he watches the blood drip down in rivulets, soaking his fingers and staining the wood of his wand. He needs to go. He knows that, from what he remembers, Dumbledore would be here soon, then Voldemort himself and then the Aurors. Draco doesn't want to risk being caught by them, nor did he want to risk Sirius being sent back to Azkaban. 

A familiar jangling noise comes from his right and Draco's head jerks up, pulling Sirius' body backwards and disillusioning him too. He can feel his own flickering before he reinforces it, placing himself defensively between Sirius and whoever is coming their way. He isn't expecting it when his Aunt rushes from the lift, grin unhinged as she rushes towards the telephone lift. Another creaking noise and a second lift arrives. Potter runs out before the golden gates are fully opened, and Draco watches his Aunt turn, firing a spell in Potter's direction. The boy hero ducks, diving behind the Fountain of Magical Brethren. The golden gates ring like a bell as the spell hits them instead of it's intended target. Bellatrix stops running, instead she turns, hip cocked and head tilted as she stares at the Fountain. 

"Come out, come out, little Harry." She croons, voice bouncing off of the polished floors. 

"Where is he?!" Potter questions before his voice raises into a deafening yell. "WHERE IS SIRIUS?!"

Her laugh is the only answer he receives and Draco watches with rapt attention and growing dread as Potter casts a _Crucio_. It's weak and dull, packed with enough force to knock her off her feet with a pained cry, but not enough hatred to inflict the true unbearable pain. Draco thinks of the time he's tried to _Crucio_ Potter in Myrtle's bathroom. It had been desperation and rage, much like Potter's now. Bellatrix's shock gives way to bubbling laughter and she climbs to her feet. 

"Never used an Unforgivable Curse, have you boy?" Her voice is no longer that taunting babyish croon. "You need to _mean_ them, Potter!" She crows, sending a wordless spell towards the Fountain where Potter is still hiding. It hits the head of the handsome wizard, and it's blown backwards, rolling off his shoulders and screeching across the floor, leaving scratch marks in it's wake. "You need to really want to cause pain- " She sings. " _To enjoy it_ \- righteous anger won't hurt me for long." Her wand raises. "I'll show you how it's done, shall I? I'll give you a lesson - " Potter edges around the side of the fountain as she screams; " _CRUCIO!_ " 

Potter ducks and the spell hits the Centaur's arm, sending it spinning through the air before it lands by the handsome wizard's head. Draco's head lolls slightly. With the sudden break he'd given himself his adrenaline had burnt through, and he's left feeling sluggish. The pain of his injuries sting now, and he feels exhausted and over extended. 

"You cannot win against me!" Bellatrix cries. 

_She's right_ , Draco thinks then whispers, "But I can."

The next spell she casts is met with a _Protego_ , the shield shimmering around Potter who looks around startled. Draco rises, tired and staggering but wand raised and burning. It would be a lie to say he hadn't thought about this. He steps forward, closing his eyes and summoning enough strength for this one final fight. He calls to mind every lesson he'd ever had with her. The hours spent beneath her _Crucio._ The days he spent casting it on others under threat of his own torture. The way she'd forced him to kill, to torture to tear lives apart and laughed every time. Righteous anger could not hurt her for long. _That's fine_ , Draco thinks darkly. _I don't plan on hurting her_.

"Who's there?!" She asks sharply, eyes whirling, wand still trained on Potter. "Who's there?! REVEAL YOURSELF!"

It's the same demanding tone she'd used in his lessons. This time Draco feels brave enough to ignore her. The first spell to leave his wand is a flash of green light that she blocks. They grow from there, each one faster, each one more vicious than before. He uses every spell in his arsenal, every spell she'd ever taught him and unleashes it all in a barrage of light and colour, the magic making his wand hiss and thrum. At first Bellatrix whirls wildly with unrestrained rage before her eyes land on the blood dripping from his arm. She cackles victoriously.

"Did you think you were safe?" She says, sweet and childlike. "Did you think I couldn't find you? Couldn't see you?" She tuts, and Draco's chest heaves with shallow breaths. "Is the itty bitty baby hurt?" Bellatrix mocks. "It's okay, I can put an end to it - _AVADA KEDAVRA!_ "

He can't cast a shield fast enough, but nothing stops him from turning. The crack echoes in the air and as Draco appears behind her. She turns, face written with anger and horror and Draco smiles, feeling something vicious and victorious as he presses his wand to her throat.

" _Sectumsempra_."

Her body has not even hit the floor when the voice rings out. 

"Such violence," Voldemort says, tone soft. It still echoes in the empty Atrium, and Draco feels each repetition in his aching bones. "Such bloodlust." He moves with such ease that he looks as if he's floating. Draco finds himself frozen, quite unable to move. Voldemort's snakelike face isn't even turned towards him, rather his red, slit-pupilled eyes are focused on his dying servant. 

"Mas-ter-" Bellatrix gurgles wetly, iron fills the air as blood leaves her body. There's no Snape with his singing hymn this time, the spell's victim lays on the cold hard ground, with no warmth to keep her company. 

"Bella," he says, voice cold and high. "My faithful servant." His wand lifts towards her, and her eyes light, ready to receive his merciful help. "You have disappointed me." The Dark Lord says. " _Avada Kedavra_." He says the spell so gently that if it wasn't for the way her body stilled, he'd think Voldemort was being kind. "You could do much better in my service." He begins, and those red eyes move up. Draco holds his breath, even though Voldemort's eyes settle slightly to his left, it feels as though the other is staring right at him. Skeletal fingers move forward, mere inches from touching Draco.

" _EXPELLIARMUS!_ "

Potter's spell bounces off a silent shield and Voldemort turns, shoulders heaving as if he's a tired and disappointed parent berating his child. "Did you parents not teach you to wait your turn, Harry Potter?" He asks lightly and Draco can picture the smile on his face as he says; "Oh, I suppose they never got the chance. Such a shame." Potter's features twist with fear and rage but Draco staggers away as silently as he can, stomach rolling and desperate to leave. "You have irked me far too often, for far too long" Voldemort says as Draco drops to his knees where he'd laid Sirius. " _AVADA KEDAVRA!_ "

Draco flinches and turns, heart in his throat and expecting to see Potter's body laid lifeless on the floor. _Stupid boy. Stupid, stupid, stupid. How had he ever thought his presence here would help? How had he believed he could change things?_

Instead he finds the statue shielding Potter, Dumbledore sweeping into the room, face filled with righteous fury. Draco's breath sounds more like a startled sob of relief. No-one hears him, everything falls on deaf ears and he's fine with that. Instead he focuses on patting the ground in front of him, desperate frustration building as he tries to find Sirius. There's a crash and spells whirling behind him ad he watches as the statue protecting Potter suddenly thrusts him in their direction. It's at that moment that his hand brushes Sirius' chest. Draco sags, exhausted and finds himself leaning against him, slouching over his cousin's body, anchoring himself to the feel of the rising and falling chest. The world passes by him in a dull roar and he feels the full effects of what he's done. The time travel had been bad enough, wild magic utilised to send him years back was a draining feat. Accompanied by the apparations and the duels... it's a miracle he hasn't passed out. A lesser Wizard would have. 

The world buzzes around them and Draco lifts his head, shuffling closer to Sirius as one by one, the floos light up. The steady flashes of emerald green are too similar to the Killing Curse for his liking. 

"He was there!" A wizard cries, in blood red robes. He babbles about the Dark Lord to a paling Cornelius Fudge and Draco wonders how he's made such an arse of this already. He isn't sure how he's meant to get the two of them out of the Ministry. Draco watches with dazed eyes as officials bustle around them, Aurors marching in a steady line to the lifts, ready to take the Death Eater's into custody. The Death Eaters. His Father. Draco has to stifle his delirious laugh. The Order members and The D.A. slowly move into the Atrium, each injured or dirtied in some way. 

" - See here Dumbledore! You haven't got authorisation for that Portkey!" Draco doesn't lift his eyes from where they're staring blankly at the floor, but he can imagine the redness of Fudge's face. "You can't do things like that right in front of the Minister for Magic, you - you - " His voice falters and Dumbledore's voice drops to something low. Draco doesn't care enough to listen in. The presence in the Atrium is quickly dwindling and the Slytherin hopes if he waits long enough he can get them both into a floo discretely enough. 

"Ah - I see. Cornelius, it seems we will need use for your Atrium." Draco's brows furrow and he spares a look at Dumbledore. The Minister is in fact red beneath his rumpled grey hair. Dumbledore much to his credit, looks non-plussed and Moody stands beside him, features set. 

"You - you can't just - " The Minister splutters.

"We would like to escort the students back to Hogwarts via Portkey. I do think, after all they've been through, and the appearance of the Dark Lord, it would be best if you would allow them to do so privately."

Fudge turns a violent shade of purple. "And I do believe the Prophet will be expecting answers, perhaps it's best to go prepare for them."

They stare at each other in a silent stalemate and Draco looks away tiredly, head hanging as he tries to come up with a plan. He hears a huff and the shuffle of robes moving towards the lift as Fudge leaves. 

"As your Headmaster, I must insist against such reckless action." Dumbledore says. "However," He adds, voice gentle. "I do commend your courage and your loyalty. Now, take hold of this Portkey. Madam Pomfrey will see to your injuries. One...Two...Three..."

There's a shift of wind and a soft pop, much softer than what accompanies Apparation and Draco relaxes somewhat, realising Potter and his posse have gone. 

"Well, Alistair?" Dumbledore says politely. "Why did you request such privacy?"

Moody laughs a rough a gravelly sound.

"We're not alone."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT ON DEEDS UNDONE:
> 
> "Protect him." Lupin reads. "Protect who?" Draco pushes himself backwards, one hand lingering on Sirius' chest before he withdraws. 
> 
> "Fin-" He whispers, voice shaking and barely audible. His wand wavers where it's pointed at Sirius. "Finite Incantatum." Sirius flicks into existence and there are startled exclamations echoing in the Atrium. Lupin's wand almost cracks beneath his grip and he all but falls at Sirius' side. His hands go to his cheeks, disbelieving and grey eyes matching Draco's flick open. 
> 
> "Sirius," Lupin breathes.


	2. The Die Is Cast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PREVIOUSLY ON DEEDS UNDONE:
> 
> There's a shift of wind and a soft pop, much softer than what accompanies Apparation and Draco relaxes somewhat, realising Potter and his posse have gone. 
> 
> "Well, Alistair?" Dumbledore says politely. "Why did you request such privacy?"
> 
> Moody laughs a rough and gravelly sound.
> 
> "We're not alone."

** DEEDS UNDONE **

_The thing about saving the world, was that it was a very Gryffindor thing to do._

_He could see a Hufflepuff doing it for all their foolish loyalty. Perhaps even a Ravenclaw with all their arrogant wisdom, but saving the world wasn't a Slytherin thing. It wasn't quite in their nature. Now, ruling the world? That was a different thing entirely and much more suited to the House of Salazar._

_And yet Draco found himself saving the world all the same._

  
_(Or; Fortune favours the bold and Time favours the fearful. Draco Malfoy just so happens to be both.)_

**CHAPTER TWO: THE DIE IS CAST**

* * *

It's as if the room collectively holds it's breath, and Draco holds his own with it. 

"I see," Dumbledore says lightly. Draco examines them. Most wands are clutched so tightly in their owner's hands that their grips are white knuckled. Moody's false eye is swivelled, locked dangerously on the place where they're hidden. "Perhaps our guest would be willing to reveal themself?"

"Guests." Moody corrects dryly, he's still turned in their direction and the Order members turn too, wands raised and ready. Moody fires a spell so quick that Draco almost doesn't stop it. His Protego is whispered, but the mere hum of his voice makes the Order members stiffen. Moody smiles as if smug at having confirmed his presence. Draco scans each Order member with open fear. They're all covered in blood and dirt from the skirmish and he watches Lupin raise his nose in the air. The Werewolf looks years older, face creased and eyes hollow. 

"One of you is hurt." He says, with a frown, having scented the iron in the air, he takes in the blood on the floor but doesn't comment further. They're making no effort to forcibly reveal him but Draco still remains wary. "Are you the ones that helped us earlier?"

"Earlier?" Tonks questions quietly.

"The shields." Kingsley clarifies. "They were protecting us." Tonks had been unconscious from her fall off the steps during the skirmish before he'd woken her. It was unsurprising that she was unaware. Kingsley takes a step closer, shoulders lowered in an attempt to make his imposing figure seem more friendly. It's unsuccessful. "Weren't you?"

The closer he gets the less he can breathe and Draco slashes his wand, drawing a burning line on the floor between them. It glows like heated coal before cooling but the Order members look down at it as if it'll strike them. He can't fathom why they're being so gentle with him. The Death Eaters would had cursed him by now. He'd be writhing under a Crucio, not for information, but for their amusement.

"We'll stay on our side of the line." Dumbledore assures quietly. "I was unfortunately rather late to the proceedings." The Wizard sounds as if they're having a light and leisurely chat. "Is it true that you helped protect them?" Draco's fingers twitch and he raises his wand slowly. One by one, letters appear in the air in ropes of gold thread.

_Y E S_

It fades quickly, but he knows they've seen it. 

"You fought with us too, didn't you?" Lupin cuts in, clearly remembering the cutting curse that had felled one of the Death Eaters. The letters appear again.

_Y E S_

Tonks shuffles uncomfortably, leaning closer to the others. "I have a bad feeling about this," she says from the corner of her mouth. "What if they're Death Eaters?" Draco can't help the amused noise that escapes him. She's not technically wrong. Dumbledore gives her a patient smile.

"Forgive my friends for their suspicion," he says. "Do you mean us any harm?"

_N O_

Dumbledore nods as if that's all the assurance he needs. Tonks steps away with a sigh, but the downturn of her lips shows that she's doesn't particularly believe him. "How can you believe them so quickly?" She mutters under her breath, hair turning a sour red. "We have no reason to trust them." She's right of course. His next move makes him pause and he watches the previous letters fade from the air. He'd wanted Sirius away before the Aurors could find him. They were gone now weren't they? And these were the people who'd hid and fought with him. 

_A U R O R S ?_

It takes a moment for them to register his meaning. Draco doesn't have the energy for full sentences. 

"They're gone." Dumbledore assures. "All but the ones we can trust." 

As far as Draco is concerned, there's only one person here he would vaguely consider trustworthy. _L U P I N_ the letters spell. The Werewolf looks surprised and the letters flicker slightly with Draco's waning energy. After sending a look to the others, the man steps forward, one cautious step after another until he reaches the line. It shifts suddenly, slithering over the floor like the snake he'd conjured in second year. It settles behind Lupin, encompassing him into Draco's side of the line whilst shutting the others out. Tonks and Kingsley start forward, both reluctant and concerned whilst Moody watches on with a glint in both eyes that makes Draco shiver. Lupin makes no move forward and Draco takes an audible breath, pointing his wand to his own temple and casting the spell that makes lucidity wash over him. It has less effect on him than it had before but he's thankful for the clarity nonetheless.

_T R U S T Y O U ?_

Lupin frowns at the letters, looking back at the others before slowly lowering himself to his knees. His wand is still in his hand, but it's tip is lowered. The open body language gives Draco much more relief than it should.

"Yes." The Wolf says simply, ignoring Tonks' hiss of protest. There's moments of nothing but silence and Draco watches the Order members shift restlessly. His goal had been to save Sirius and he'd done that. 

_P R O T E C T H I M_

The words spell in the air, but they flicker and shake. "Protect him." Lupin reads. "Protect who?" Draco pushes himself backwards, one hand lingering on Sirius' chest before he withdraws. 

"Fin-" He whispers, voice shaking and barely audible. His wand wavers where it's pointed at Sirius. " _Finite Incantatum_." Sirius flicks into existence and there are startled exclamations echoing in the Atrium. Lupin's wand almost cracks beneath his grip and he all but falls at Sirius' side. His hands go to his cheeks, disbelieving and grey eyes matching Draco's flick open. 

"Sirius," Lupin breathes.

"Hey, Moony." He rasps, trying to raise his head before letting it thunk back on the floor. "Why the long face? Did someone eat your kibble?" The others try to crowd in suddenly and Draco jerks away as if burned only for a hand to latch onto his arm. His sleeve is slick with blood but Sirius doesn't seem to care and his head turns up, looking for Draco yet still unable to see him. The blonde realises then that Sirius has been awake for far longer than he thought. "Wh-" Sirius' fingers edge too close to Draco's gaping cut and he cries out in pain, shoving him away with enough force that he's pushed into Lupin's side. It seems to have been the cue the others were waiting for and Draco deflects Tonks' spell before narrowly ducking Moody's. 

"Stop!" Sirius and Lupin say but the others don't hear them over their spell casting. It's harder to dodge the spells now that Moody's fake eye seems to be able to see his silhouette and his steps turn into a manic and desperate dash. _I need to get away._ He thinks desperately. _I need to get away._ His wand moves for him in a circular motion and mist pours from it in unending streams. Draco can't breathe over his relief and vanishes his blood from the floor as he slides into the nearest floo. It's the first time he's ever found so much comfort in the green flames. 

Draco is spat into Umbridge's office, thankful of the fireplace being unmonitered and stares up at the spinning ceiling. It seems to be as pink as everything else in the room. Draco wants to throw up but he fears that may be pink too. The Slytherins surrounding him are still asleep, and the door is still locked, there's a hissing at the fireplace and as the flames tinge green he arcs his wand in a panic and locks that too. Draco pants heavily, vision spinning and sits up, shakily pointing his wand at his arm. It takes three tries before bandages wrap around it, they're still loose and crooked but they do the job. 

He's not entirely focusing as he transfigures his clothes back into school robes and as he slumps on the ground, closing his eyes and letting a cleaning charm wash over him, the sleeping Slytherins stir. Draco wishes they would have slept longer to give him one moment of peace. He ignores their groans and swears as they groggily wake and swallows the bile in his throat, rising to his feet and staggering over to the door, pulling it firmly before remembering that he'd locked it. "Draco?" Someone asks from behind him but he ignores them in favour for unlocking the door and moving into the hallway. His journey is more a stumble than a walk, and he finds himself veering to the side, resting heavily on the Castle's stone walls. Draco uses them as a crutch, fingers digging into any cracks and grooves he can find whilst he grits his teeth against the violent painful pulse of his cuts. He's not going back to the Common Room, not yet, he needs somewhere private. Empty classrooms are out, save he be intruded upon; the last thing he needs is a handsy couple or a nosy teacher finding him injured on a classroom floor. The Room of Requirement is a non-option, the mere thought of it sends the ghostly heat of Fendifyre scalding the back of his neck and the next breath he takes feels like smoke and ash. There's only one place to go. 

Myrtle's bathroom is as he remembers it from before the war. The large mirror is still spotted and cracked, the sinks riddled with various chips. The floor is damp beneath his knees as he sinks to it, and he's thankful that in the dim light he can't fully see his reflection. Draco always struggled to look at it after his marking. He never looked different, not at first, but he could feel it. His magic felt tainted, _he_ felt tainted after the Dark Lord's brand had sunken into his skin. He crawls towards the sinks, pulling himself up and running one of the taps. It squeaks beneath his hand and his fingers catch on an odd engraving on it's side. He pays no attention to it, instead he groans in frustration as no water meets him and grabs the next one, turning it quickly and almost crying as cool water rushes from it. Draco sticks his head under it, inside his mind he can hear his Father's echoing voice berating him for doing something so muggle and improper. Except his father wouldn't be berating him. Not any longer. Not now Draco had ensured his captivity in Azkaban. Eventually he slumps to the side, leaving the tap running as he presses his forehead to the chipped sink in front of him.

"You're not supposed to be in here." A voice says behind him and Draco flinches. 

"I know." He says blankly. The voice is referring to the bathroom, Draco is referring to so much more. He shouldn't be in this time, in this alternate life he's just created. He shouldn't be in Hogwart's after all he's done, _he shouldn't be in these halls after all he's become._

"This is my bathroom." Myrtle says petulantly. "Everything was ruined in my life, now you come ruining my death!" She huffs.

"Sorry, Myrtle." He croaks, but doesn't turn to face her.

She pauses. "You called me Myrtle."

"That is your name,"

Her face appears suddenly in front of his, ghostly form leaning through the wall of pipes beneath the sinks. He'd spent enough time with her antics in Sixth year, so Draco doesn't so much as blink. Myrtle seems both curious and disappointed in his lack of reaction.

"Most students call me Moaning Myrtle," the Ghost tells him as if he hadn't already known. "They're all so mean."

"You should ignore them," He tells her, eyes fluttering. "You don't deserve it, Myrtle." She never had. It was part of why he had connected with her so heavily in the past- the future. She had been misunderstood and alone, unable to do anything about her circumstances. Draco had been put in a far too similar predicament. Myrtle stares at him from behind her round glasses and Draco struggles to keep his eyes on her. Bile rises suddenly in his throat and he turns to the side, retching onto the cold floor. Myrtle shrieks at the mess whilst he heaves. It's his own fault. It's the fallback of magical exhaustion; a consequence of all he's done in the space of a few hours. He presses his back against the sinks, pushing himself away from the pile of vomit, not having the strength to so much as raise his wand, let alone spell it away. His head droops, chin touching his chest. 

"Oh dear," Myrtle says suddenly above him. "Are you dying?"

"I'm... not dying..." He says, words slurring. "...I need-"

"I'll fetch a teacher!" She proclaims suddenly. Draco can't tell if it's out of concern or a want to get a student out of her usually empty bathroom.

"No!" His protest is soft but strong and he can sense the vague chill of her presence beside him. "I jus'...need to...rest." Draco tries to assure her. "Can I...res' here?"

"You're asking me?" She says, bewildered and Draco remembers just how little kindness she'd received before their first meeting.

"...'s your bath...bathroom..."

He hears the hum of her voice as she answers but he's so tired. He's so very tired.

Draco lets the exhaustion take him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT ON DEEDS UNDONE:
> 
> "-alfoy? Malfoy?"
> 
> Draco, he wants to scream but as he opens his mouth he breathes a ragged and pitiful sound. I'm Draco. I'm Draco, I'm Draco, I'm DracoDracoDracoDracoDracoI'm-


	3. Nature Is Not Saddened

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't know whether I like this chapter or not, but I'll let you know that I happen to love the next one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PREVIOUSLY ON DEEDS UNDONE:
> 
> "No!" His protest is soft but strong and he can sense the vague chill of her presence beside him. "I jus'...need to...rest." Draco tries to assure her. "Can I...res' here?"
> 
> "You're asking me?" She says, bewildered and Draco remembers just how little kindness she'd received before their first meeting.
> 
> "...'s your bath...bathroom..."
> 
> He hears the hum of her voice as she answers but he's so tired. He's so very tired.
> 
> Draco lets the exhaustion take him.

** DEEDS UNDONE **

_The thing about saving the world, was that it was a very Gryffindor thing to do._

_He could see a Hufflepuff doing it for all their foolish loyalty. Perhaps even a Ravenclaw with all their arrogant wisdom, but saving the world wasn't a Slytherin thing. It wasn't quite in their nature. Now, ruling the world? That was a different thing entirely and much more suited to the House of Salazar._

_And yet Draco found himself saving the world all the same._

  
_(Or; Fortune favours the bold and Time favours the fearful. Draco Malfoy just so happens to be both.)_

**CHAPTER THREE: NATURE IS NOT SADDENED**

* * *

The tears are hot, eyes burning as they streak down his face. His mouth is open, sobs coming from his hitching chest. One of the tears slips over his lips and the taste of the salt is as bitter he feels. The sink beneath his hands is ice cold in contrast, and the chipped surface digs uncomfortably at the skin of his palms. Draco doesn't care. His arm burns beneath the fabric of his sleeve, swollen and sensitive. He hasn't been able to bring himself to look at it. Instead, Draco stares at his reflection in the mirror. He doesn't want this. He doesn't want any of this but he has to do it, he has to be one of _them_. Draco closes his eyes and when he opens them again, green eyes stare back at him. They're too identical in shade to the Killing Curse and his chest tightens further. 

" _I know what you did, Malfoy_."

Malfoy. Malfoy. Malfoy. It was always Malfoy. ' _Young Malfoy is to be marked tomorrow.' 'Come, Malfoy. We don't want you to end up like your Father.' 'Pathetic. You can't even cast a Crucio? You're weak, Malfoy. Perhaps a demonstration will show you how_.'

 _I'm Draco_ , he wants to scream. _My name is Draco! My name is Draco!_

Draco and Malfoy are two different people. Malfoy is the Death Eater. Malfoy is the one who gave Bell the cursed necklace. Draco is the one whose hands were shaking so badly he almost dropped the poisoned wine. Malfoy is the one who'd Crucio'd Muggles. Draco was the one who'd been Crucio'd himself when he refused. Malfoy is Pureblood and heritage and the brand on his arm. Draco is scared. A coward. Still just a boy.

Draco isn't sure he deserves to be just a boy.

The curse fires instinctively. It's an automatic response, a muscle memory born from months with Death Eaters for company. At first he doesn't even see the Gryffindor. His spell is aimed at the snarling fangs of Fenrir. At the sadistic Carrows. At Aunt Bella. It takes two more spells for him to remember he's at Hogwarts not the manor, and it's Potter that his duelling. His eyes sting as much as the mark on his arm. 

Potter.

Saint Potter. The Golden Boy. The Hero. The One Who Defeated The Dark Lord. He never did any wrong. Even if he had, everyone would flock to him with adoration and reassure him that he hadn't. They'd still be in awe. He'd still be Potter. He'd still be good. Draco doesn't get to be that. He gets to be Malfoy. The spells that want to leave his lips are dark. He doesn't want to hurt Potter, not really but all the magic that comes to mind are spells that turn bones to ash and boil blood in it's victim's veins. He doesn't want to hurt Potter and that's not fair either. Potter is his rival and his enemy and everything he wants and hates and can never be. Draco can't bring himself to cause more pain. Malfoy wants to cause so much pain.

"CRUCIO!"

It's different from the other times he's cast it. There's no hesitation. It's of his own whim and impulse. This time his voice doesn't shake, he's learned not to be so obvious in his reluctance, but his hand certainly does. He knows as his lips form the last letter that it's failed. There's none of the hatred and anger that it needs to carry, instead it's frightened and desperate and he feels like a wounded animal. Every action he takes is nought but a snarl. 

The blonde is deaf to the word that leaves the Saviour's lips but he's not numb to the pain. Magic slices through his skin, but it's not like a knife through butter. Instead it's like a pinprick, before the gap widens and the skin pulls itself apart. There's tension in the act, like pulling damp clothes from your skin, but it persists and each cut opens with overwhelming agony. He can feel the tears on his skin again and sobs openly, breaths wet and ragged. It's too much for his body to bear and his eyes close.

They open again suddenly, Draco's entire body jerking as he claws his way out from the nightmare of a memory. The same ceiling greets him, the same floor hard beneath him, but it's not flooded with water, it's still the puddled damp. There's no torturous cuts on his skin, layers of flesh pulling apart and Draco blinks, staring up unseeing as he pants. It was just a dream. He slowly sits, tilting his head back and greedily welcoming the cold air of the chilly bathroom. His breathing has almost returned to normal when he becomes aware of the terrible ache on his arm. There's a stain on the bathroom floor, like rust and grime except the shade is deeper and it pools, mixing with the thin layer of water on the ground. Draco's chest seizes. His eyes are locked on the blood on the ground and all he can feel is the pain in his arm as it becomes overwhelming, Myrtles voice rings in his ear as loud and clear as a bell. She's saying something, a tangled hum of a sentence but all he can hear is her screams of 'MURDERER!' Draco tries to breathe but chokes on an inhale, imagining the thick cloying discharge of that spell in the air. It cuts his lungs now as easily as it had his flesh those years ago. There's ringing in his ears...no, it's screaming...no, it's his own cries. Draco thinks beneath it all he hears the hum of Snape's lullaby. 

"-alfoy? Malfoy?"

 _Draco_ , he wants to scream but as he opens his mouth he breathes a ragged and pitiful sound. _I'm Draco. I'm Draco, I'm Draco, I'm DracoDracoDracoDracoDracoI'm-_

"You're having a panic attack," the voice says and Draco flinches. He knows, but Malfoys aren't meant to be so simple. They aren't meant to be so weak. "You need to focus on your breathing." It says and Draco realises with a growing horror that the voice belongs to Granger.

"Go-" He tries to say through hitching breaths. His skin feels like a tight cage around his bones. "-Away."

"No." She says stubbornly. "Not until this ends."

Draco's emotions flutter between anger and humiliation. "Sod off!" He manages to snarl. "Filthy Mu-" This time it isn't his breathing that cuts him off. He presses his lips together, eyes clenching shut and flinching at the word he was about to say. "Just- Sod off," He pants weakly. He isn't entirely sure why he didn't say it, internally he frowns at himself. It had been like that since some point during his Sixth year. After the summer and the things he'd witnessed, the word felt heavier on his tongue and the sound of it made his stomach turn. Draco had forced himself to say it, sneering the word even as he began not to believe it. He’d thought it might be easier that way, that listening to their screams might be easier to hear if he thought of them solely as Mudbloods instead of actual humans. After all, it had worked so well for the Death Eaters causing the screams.

"I'm not going anywhere." She snaps after a moment of nothing but his frightened breaths. "Are you going to stop acting like a spoilt child and let me help you? Or shall I leave you here for someone else to find?"

Draco decides then that he hates her no less than he did before. He grits his teeth, opening his eyes to say something but all he sees is the blood and the water and then Potter is there and he can't breathe.

"Malfoy," Granger says in what he assumes is meant to be a gentle tone, but regardless he flinches. "Listen to me," she says. "I need you to take deep breaths."

"-Cant-Breathe-" He gasps out, unimpressed. He can almost hear her patience waning.

"Which is why you need to." Granger says. "Copy me." He listens to the exaggerated inhale and exhales of her breathing. He struggles to mirror them and closes his eyes until he slips easier into the pattern. "There we go," she encourages. His cheeks burn from the vulnerability of the situation. She stays there until his breathing is shaky but regular and Draco grows tenser, pulling his knees to his chest and staring at her from lowered lids. Granger stares back at him. She looks as she always has, dark skin only a few shades lighter than her eyes, the curls that halo her face are as untamed as always, but her expression is different. It's not full of contempt or pity, it's open and curious, as though he's the cover of new book she's discovered. His stare turns into a glare and she huffs, standing and smoothing her hands over her robes as if it can neaten the wrinkles from where she'd been knelt beside him. "You should see Madam Pomfrey." Granger says before arching a brow at his blank expression. "For your arm," she clarifies before tacking on, "and also for a calming draught." The Witch turns to leave.

"No-one will find out about this." He says, voice full of threat. "You wont tell a soul."

She bristles. "I have better things to do than gossip about you." As her hand slips over the door and she pulls it open, Draco lowers his head and swallows thickly.

"Granger," he calls and she pauses in the doorway. The Gryffindor turns her head to face him, eyes narrowed and nostrils flaring, clearly expecting an insult. "Thank you." Draco says quietly, and he's surprised by how much he means it. The shock of his thanks seems to fry the few brain cells she has and Granger stares at him, mouth slightly agape before she nods slowly and walks through the door.

Draco sags completely at her exit, as if he’s as boneless as Potter’s arm back in second year. The memory would make him smile if it wasn’t for his exhaustion, there’s a bitter taste in his mouth and he closes his eyes. Beside him, Myrtle hovers like a tearful gnat.

“You frightened me terribly!” She blubbers. Ah, he thinks, that’s why Granger was here. She must have gone looking for help. He wants to be mad that she put him in such a vulnerable and humiliating situation, but it had helped, he could breathe a little easier now.

“I’m sorry, Myrtle.” Draco says, still prideful enough to refuse the thought of thanking her. “How long have I been here?” 

“Quite a while,” she says. “You slept so fitfully I thought you’d wake at anytime. Don’t worry, I made sure no one came close, I kept them all away to help you sleep.” Myrtle preens as she says the words, like a puppy looking to be praised for learning a new trick. 

“Thank you, Myrtle.” He says courteously and slowly moves to stand. “I suppose I should head back to my common room.”

“Your common room?” Myrtle questions and as he turns to her, he finds her looking at him owlishly. “But aren’t you going to dinner?”

His brows furrow and he loses his breath again, rather than the fast brutal rip of it being stolen from him, it’s a slow punch of his lungs. “Dinner?” He questions, grabbing the nearest sink to keep himself steady. It would do him no good to collapse again. “I-“ He’d slept through the day? It would be bad enough if he’d slept a few hours and returned to his dorm late in the night. It would be considerably worse if he’d slept through to the morning and barely made it to his first class, but this? Draco could only imagine the pandemonium his reappearance would invoke. Blaise, Goyle and Crabbe would be equal parts suspicious and bewildered as his dormmates but Pansy would be the real problem. She’d be worried when he didn’t come to breakfast, more so when he didn’t attend classes, and by the time she found out he hadn’t returned to the dungeons at all, Pansy would be frantic. Draco grimaces, there was no doubt if he left long enough, she’d form a search party of her own. “You’re right,” he says distantly. “I should go to dinner.” The blonde is already moving towards the door as he speaks but he stops, his reflection staring back at him in the damp puddles of the floor. His pale hair is rough and messed, framing a gaunt face far too reminiscent of the war torn boy he’d been. His robes are perhaps the worst, wrinkled, damp and smeared with blood. The visual is apparently all the reminder he needs and his arm pulses and throbs. The cut is still there on his cheek but he pays no mind to it and instead slowly takes off his robes, ignoring Myrtle’s flirtatious cooing one the background. The first bout of magic is simple enough; a cleaning spell that sponges the blood off the shirt he wears and leeches it from his robes. The next, smooths it’s wrinkles. The act of magic itself is soothing, but he still feels weighed down and sluggish, by the time he’s mending the rips and rewrapping his bandages he feels lightheaded. Too much magic in too little time. Draco tucks his wand into his sleeve, and runs his fingers through his hair. The strands stick up in soft white puffs before he manages to tame them somewhat. They aren’t as neat as his slicked down style, and the ends of his hair curl loosely. It’s a style his mother had always tried to encourage, and one his father vehemently hated. 

Myrtle receives a small twitch of his fingers in goodbye, and he slips through the door straightening his robes and wearing his patented Malfoy disinterest. The halls are empty as he moves through them and Draco takes the time to try and sort through his thoughts. Sirius was okay. He’d gotten to him before he could fall through the veil, he’d left him with Lupin. The Werewolf would look after him. That was one thing Draco had managed to do right. Did killing his Aunt count as a right? Or was it a wrong? She’d done so much wrong, Bellatrix almost embodied the word, and her death would prevent so much more of it. One act and he’d managed to save lives... hopefully. Even so, what was a little murder between family? She’d been so willing to do it to her cousin after all. Was there a word for the murder of an Aunt? Patricide was Father, Avunculicide was Uncle... Parricide was a blanket term for killing ones relatives, it would have to suffice.

_Perhaps I’ll make my own term_ , Draco muses as he moves down the staircases. The others shift and move around him but the Slytherin ignores them, descending lazily. There are more students here, still few and far between but they all move into the Great Hall with a sense of urgency. He must not be too late then. The closer he gets to the doors the more his chest tightens. Draco pushes forward regardless, smoothing his robes and making sure his features are laced with elegant pride. He’s unprepared for the sight of it all. The students are abuzz with chatter, on the Ravenclaw table a group of girls burst into laughter, some Hufflepuffs have made paper dolls out of parchment and let them dance along the table top. There had never been a day Draco had thought that the sight of Gryffindors would bring him warmth, yet here he was and there the warmth was. Everything is so utterly impossibly alive. Draco aches at the sight of it.Eyes are slowly wandering in his direction so he lifts his chin, and walks towards the Slytherin table. The floor beneath his feet is uneven and familiar, it takes more concentration than he cares for to walk over it smoothly. 

“Draco!”

The call of his name is not quiet nor calm. Pansy’s shriek seems to bounce off the walls of the Great Hall and he doesn’t bother to hide his wince, moving towards her with reluctance. He’s happy to see her, but he knows that tone well enough to know that he won’t like this conversation. As he approaches her part of the table she suddenly flings herself at him, eyes watering and voice shrill in a way reminiscent of Moaning Myrtle. He catches her, and his annoyance is suddenly drowned by the familiarity of her weight in his arms. She hadn’t been a constant presence during the war, she’d been at Hogwarts before the Battle and he’d been away in Malfoy Manor, in the Dark Lord’s service.

“Where the bloody hell were you?! You didn’t come to classes! Or meals! And then I found out you never came back to the Dungeons?! Where have you been? What happened to your cheek?!“ Her voice is high and scolding and he knows they’re receiving more than a few curious looks, but he doesn’t care. It’s almost strange to him that he can be so easily overcome by how much he’s missed her. Pansy moves to pull back from him and Draco tightens his grip, arms tight around her waist and presses his face against her shoulder. The Witch pauses, arms coming up to circle his neck. “Draco?” Pansy asks quietly, with far more urgency than before. “Are you okay?”

“Shut up.” He says without bite before adding a soft and tender; “Thank you.” 

It’s for many things, far too many things but he has neither the energy nor willingness to explain. He’s used the phrase twice in one day, that’s as much gratitude as he’s willing to give. The blonde disentangles himself from her before stepping closer to the table. Blaise shuffles to the side to make room for him and Draco drops into his seat like a stone, careful to keep his injured arm away from outer touches. He doesn’t have to say anything before a plate of food is being shoved at him and Draco follows the hand to Crabbe. They’d never spoken openly about emotions or anything so gentle, but Draco recognises it as a small act of concern. He takes the plate, staring at the collection of sweet treats, all of them his favourites and when he looks up again it isn’t Crabbe’s eyes that he meets, but Goyle’s. The other is staring at him, he looks so open and young like this. Draco blinks and painted behind his lids he sees the Room of Lost Things. The world is toppling around him, feet and hands struggling to find purpose. The heat of the room is far more intense than he’d ever imagined it to be. Smoke fills his lungs in Draco’s next inhale and there’s shrieks and shouts of surprise as suddenly each table’s candles flare as hot and bright as Fendifyre. The magic is accidental, fearful and Draco sees spots in his vision as his fists ball beneath the table. His fingers slip beneath his left sleeve, desperately searching and he isn’t sure if he can breathe less or more when he doesn’t feel the tainted ink of the Dark Mark. Breathe. Focus. Control it. His nails dig into the delicate skin and his vision swims before he’s left unable to see, the students yell and panic as they’re plunged into darkness. Draco’s need for the fire to stop had perhaps been a touch too enthusiastic.

The light is a slow rising glow that brightens the room and distantly he hears the teachers calling for the students to settle. Despite it’s startling occurrence, the flames ranked incredibly low on the list of Hogwarts’ incidents so most students settle into whispers but make no move to leave. The conversations stutter then rise but Draco hears none of it, instead there’s a low buzz in his ears. He feels unsteady, off balance and sick. Grey eyes fix to his plate but he isn’t quite seeing anything, his lungs still feel smoke stung as he takes quick and quiet breaths. 

“What do you think that was?” Someone questions at the table. 

“It was probably, Potter.” Pansy replies with a sniff. “He’s always looking for attention.” There are murmurs of agreement and a few ribs and taunts at the boy saviour. Draco wants to tell them to shut up, that Potter is the only hope any of them have but he can only imagine how that outburst will be perceived. Besides, he doubts he has the energy for it. The blonde pushes his plate away, brows furrowed and face as pale as his hair. He’s careful not to look at Goyle and gives his companions a simple sweeping gaze, full of disinterest. 

“I’ll be returning to the common room before Potter and his lot get in anymore dramatics,” he says raising his chin. Pansy opens her mouth to protest but her mouth closes suddenly with an audible click of her teeth as she stares over his shoulder. 

“That does seem wise, Mr Malfoy.” A voice drawls. “But perhaps you would indulge me with a visit to my office.” His Godfather’s voice is smooth and authoritative and Draco’s shoulders tighten minutely. 

“Certainly, Professor.” 

He leaves without a parting word to his friends, and follows Snape’s billowing robes through the castle halls. His Godfather had been the last one he talked to before his ritual... Or rather his portrait had been the last one he’d spoken to. Of all the deaths of the war, Snape was one he took heavily. Draco is silent as he follows him, pace slower than usual as he tries not to stumble and blinks past dots in his vision. He’s tired. He’s hungry. He’s exhausted. The change in scenery is a comfort at the very least; it saves him from meeting the eyes of more corpses tonight. Snape snaps something at him before seizing his arm and pulling him down the steps and into his office. The room is dimly lit, and whilst he'd found it vaguely intimidating in his first year, he'd quickly grown to like the soft atmosphere. Draco looks at the jars lining each wall, gaze sweeping over the pensieve on his Godfather's desk with short lived confusion.

The vial of Dittany clinks gently as his Godfather places it on the desk. He pulls the cuffs of his sleeves up, not bothering to rid himself of his outer robe and Draco takes the cue. He moves forward, expression blank. Snape’s bony fingers pinch his jaw and turn his head to the side, a dittany covered cloth wiping at his cheek. The touch is neither rough nor gentle and he’s oddly reminded of the times his mother would scrub the dirt from his skin with her sleeves when he hadn’t yet learnt not to play in the gardens. There’s no talking through the act and Draco can’t find it within him to settle peacefully in the silence. It feels heavy. Stifling. 

He’d never known what to say to the dead.

”I trust you have good reason for missing all your classes today.”

Snape doesn’t phrase it as a question, but Draco can tell he’s waiting for an answer. 

_Actually Godfather, it’s a funny story. You see, I came here from the future in order to interfere in the Dark Lord’s plans and to do that I needed to interrupt the fight at the Ministry and save my estranged blood traitor cousin who happened to bully you in your youth. Then I happened to kill my Aunt Bella with the spell that you created before being attacked by the Order of the Phoenix and escaping with a prophecy that was meant to have been destroyed. Of course after that I collapsed in a bathroom and only woke up because of things I’d rather not remember._

Somehow Draco thought that explanation might not go down so well.

“Forgive me Professor” he says, voice blasé. “I overslept.”

”I’m curious as to why such a sleep extended several hours.” His Godfather drawls. “And to why you spent the duration of it not in your bed.”

Draco’s tongue feels like cotton. Snape turns from him nonplussed as if their conversation is of something as mundane as the weather. The Professor turns to face him again.

“I assume you’d like to tell me you spent your time in the hospital wing?” Draco stares at him, wondering why he’s being offered such an out. He’s long given up any attempt to understand his Godfather’s motives.

”My head quite hurt last night, Professor. Naturally I used one of Madam Pomfrey’s potions. It was foolish of me to use so much, drowsiness is a common effect, it’s no wonder I overslept.” Snape nods as if the tale hadn’t been spurred by his own prompt. 

“I expect better of you, Mr Malfoy. A student as apt in Potions as yourself should be more aware of the consequences of certain concoctions.” Draco looks away. It’s odd how much he’d missed lectures even as small as this. “Go.” Snape continues sharply. “Dinner is almost over, it would do no good if you miss more classes due to an empty stomach.” Draco recognises it as a silent act of care and takes the out. Snape turns away as the blonde moves to the doorway and Draco silently summons the bottle of Dittany from his desk. It shoots towards him just as he pulls open the door and he slips it into the folds of his robes.

”Mr Malfoy.” Snape calls suddenly and Draco freezes, shoulders sagging as he prepares to return the Dittany. “Your Occlumency has improved.” Draco doesn’t feel relief in the Dittany having been unseen. Instead he feels trepidation. His advancement in his Occlumency has been a direct result of his proximity to the Dark Lord. It was a subconscious form of magic now. A second skin. One he was so used to wearing he hardly noticed his Godfather’s gentle probing at it’s walls. Draco nods stiffly unable to verbalise his thanks. “You’ll be serving detention with me for the rest of the week.” Snape adds. “I trust your attendance won’t be an issue.”

”Of course not, Professor.” Draco says before he leaves. 

The hallway is dark and cold, but Draco hardly feels it. He doesn’t want to return to the Great Hall. Dinner would be ending soon, but no matter the length of time, he didn’t want to spend so much of it around the would be dead. It would be easy for him to get food from the kitchens later. Instead of going to the Great Hall, Draco walks. He follows the stones of the hallway, passes the entrance to his common room and doesn’t think to stop. He passes portraits and ghosts blindly, body on autopilot and mind elsewhere. He comes back into himself as he stares up at the canopy of trees.

It’s no less intimidating than the first time he’d seen it. He’s grown since then of course, but the trees still loom above him, in the low light of the dying day the shadows seem to creep and crawl as if beckoning him. Draco listens. D ry leaves and fallen branches crunch and snap beneath his feet. What little light there had been in the sky seems to die completely and he’s almost blind as he moves deeper. When was the last time he had been here? He wasn’t entirely sure, but the leaves seemed both familiar and stranger. A branch snags on his robes and he tugs against it. The fabric seems to stay there, the branch tangling further in it as if afraid to let go and Draco wonders not for the first time if the forest is sentient. That had been his suspicion in his first year at least. 

“Come on.” He says through gritted teeth, pulling against the branch. It snaps free suddenly, and he stumbles back suddenly from the lack it’s obstacle, barely saved from falling into the dirt. “Ridiculous weed.” He grumbles at it, smoothing his robe to make sure there are no tears. He finds none but as he lifts his head there’s a crack to his left and his attention snaps in the sound’s direction. Nothing but shadow greet him but he can’t help the feeling of being watched. His fingers curl around his wand, finding warmth in the weight of it in his palm. Grey eyes scan the area blindly before locking onto movement. It’s head appears first, followed by a long neck. The creature steps into the only available sliver of moonlight. It does nothing to help it’s grim appearance. Impossibly dark skin clings to it’s bones, not a single ounce of flesh to be seen. It’s skeletal form is almost reptilian despite the leathery bat like wings protruding from it. It’s small, barely coming to his knee if Draco had to hazard a guess. He raises his wand defensively as it moves and a sole wing raises in a similar defensive style. The other wing is held oddly, half against it’s body and half twisted out into the air. Draco frowns. _It’s-_

”It’s broken.” A voice speaks for him.

Firenze stands tall and proud amongst the trees. His pale skin seems to glow in the low light, his hair an ever bright halo around his head. The strength of his gaze is unwavering and it sends an unsettling chill across Draco’s body. 

“Didn’t your colony banish you?” Draco says unkindly. “Are you so sure you should be out here alone?” 

“I was waiting.” Firenze replies unbothered.

Draco shouldn’t ask. He has no desire to know. The Wizard swallows his question and turns away with a scoff. “Then wait elsewhere.” 

“I was waiting,” Firenze says patiently. “For you.” Draco’s body locks and his fingers clench, reminding him of the weight of the wand in his hand. It doesn’t sound like a threat, but he’s long learned the worst promises came with sweet smiles. _You can keep waiting_ , he wants to say, but he’s busy sorting the curses under his tongue.

“His wing is broken.” The Centaur says. Draco’s wand raises as the other moves past him. His steps are slow and purposeful, his posture gentle as he leans down opposite the Thestral. Draco eyes him warily.

”How do you know it’s a he?” 

“I know all the things in this forest.” 

“Oh really?” Draco responds dryly. He doesn’t believe him for a second.

”Yes. Just as I know you.” 

He bristles. “You don’t know a damn thing about me, Half Breed.” 

Firenze’s tail swishes at the insult but he makes no rebuttal. It infuriates Draco even more. 

“I know your eyes are old for one so young.”

The Wizard's chest seizes. He'd just killed his Aunt, surely it wouldn't be too much to kill his Professor. He'd only _attempted_ to kill a teacher before, this time he saw no way he wouldn't succeed. "I'd ask why you're talking in riddles, but it's no surprise that only nonsense leaves your lips. I doubt you have the capability for much else." His wand spins idly in his hand, typical Malfoy disinterest painted on his face. Firenze can't know. There's nothing for Firenze _too_ know. 

"It's no surprise you're so bitter and immature." Firenze replies, petting the head of the Thestral fondly. "Children don't have the capability for much else."

Draco's teeth grind so hard he thinks he hears them crack under the pressure. "How dare you-"

"The journey must have been hard." The Professor says, cutting him off. "What you did is no easy feat. Nor is what you're going to do." 

The breath he takes is painful and sharp. "I don't know what you're talking about." 

Firenze sends him a look that's even sharper and clouded with amusement. "Categorically." His hand moves gently down towards the broken wing and the Thestral hisses. "It'll die if it's left like this." He says it so matter of factly that Draco can't help but wince internally. He was right. Injured and alone it would die. Everything would die eventually, he wasn't sure why the thought of it suddenly felt so bad. 

"Everything dies." He says plainly.

"That is true," Firenze says with a low hum. "Everything has it's time... But, you could change that. You could save it." 

Draco feels as though he may be hinting at something more than the Thestral and the thought makes his skin prickle uncomfortably. 

"So could you." He says in rebuttal. 

"Perhaps that's not the role for me to take."

Draco isn't sure what his role was to be in any situation. What had his role been before? Child? Student? Pawn? or had it been Murderer? Death Eater?

Was he even allowed to be anything else?

Draco scoffs. "Well my role isn't to be stood in the dirt chattering with you." Firenze's voice stops him as he turns to leave.

"And what _is_ your role?" 

~~_I don't know._ ~~

"Right now, it's going back to the castle and going to bed, lest I waste anymore time on you." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT ON DEEDS UNDONE:
> 
> "There are consequences to your actions Mr Malfoy."
> 
> Draco's teeth grind. "Consequences? Like the ones issued to the Golden Boy? Do remind me, Professor: What were his consequences for chasing a troll in first year? For almost setting a snake on a student in second year? And lets not forget his attempt at fame and fortune last year. What were the consequences for entering the Tournament again? What are the consequences for any of your precious Gryffindors?"
> 
> There's barely contained shock in the classroom, and McGonagall's eyes bulge. "That is enough, Mr Malfoy." She says, voice tight. "There is no favou-"
> 
> "No favouritism among the houses?" He tips his head back, laugh incredulous, when it lowers his lips are turned down into bitter grin. "Look me in the eye and tell me that anyone else would've received the same treatment. That any Slytherins would've received the same treatment-"
> 
> "That is enough Mr Malf-"
> 
> "You and Dumbledick-" The class cries out, both offence and encouragement. He talks over the noise. "You and Dumbledick don't give a Troll's arse about any of us unless we're wearing red."


End file.
